


Another View

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, section vii LJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: We're celebrating seven years of the PicFic Challenge on Section VII (Live Journal community section7mfu).  This photo prompt was the first one, so we're revisiting it with new stories.





	Another View

**Author's Note:**

> We're celebrating seven years of the PicFic Challenge on Section VII (Live Journal community section7mfu). This photo prompt was the first one, so we're revisiting it with new stories.

Illya stood on the sand, the waves lapping at his bare feet as he scanned the surrounding area in search of his partner. In his hands the binoculars made the sea and sky beyond like something from another realm, the details were excruciatingly sharp; R&D had done an excellent job on crafting them.

Finally, accepting that Napoleon was mostly likely still on land and not drifting at sea in the little dingy they had ‘borrowed’ from the wharf behind him, Illya spotted his friend on the bluff across from where he now stood. The binoculars showed him an expression on the American’s face that he rarely observed: dejection and disappointment hung like an ill fitting mask on his handsome features.

Illya lost no time hiking up to the spot, winding his way with renewed energy as the one hundred steps to the top of the bluff challenged even the fit Russian. He was slightly winded when he reached the top, and looking back down to the beach below he allowed his breathing to return to normal before heading towards his melancholy friend.

Napoleon Solo was sitting cross-legged in the grass, leaning against a palm tree while he ignored the possibility of a coconut dropping down onto his head. It was a random thought, and in fact he wasn’t certain that this was even a coconut palm. He wasn’t certain of anything. Not today, perhaps not for a very long time.

“Napoleon, I’ve been looking for you.” The Russian’s voice was low, inquiring without being invasive. He knew his friend was troubled, understood the mood only too well.

Napoleon Solo looked up at his friend, perhaps his only real friend in the world. In spite of everything, the job and the mission, even their cultural differences, Illya Kuryakin had proven to be both his equal and, more importantly, his brother. Partnerships were intense in this realm of world saving heroics, although he didn’t actually think of himself as a hero. He was quite certain the two people whose lives he hadn’t saved yesterday would not consider him a hero.

It was not unheard of to lose an innocent bystander in this fight against evil. Thinking back on the events leading up to yesterday, Napoleon had to acknowledge that neither Leslie nor Ralph had actually been innocent, at least not in the usual sense of the word.

Illya sat down next to his partner and waited for him to speak. He recognized the process of reliving the mission, re-thinking what had transpired to try and visualize a different end to things.

“It wasn’t your fault Napoleon. Leslie and Ralph set things motion, they were burglarizing a THRUSH house that was heavily guarded. If anything, their miscreant actions opened a door for us to acquire what we were sent to … “

“Steal?” Napoleon finally cracked a smile, the irony of two thieves making the task that much simpler for them.

“I know all of that Illya. And, thank you, for trying to lighten my mood. We’ve both been on this train ride, and the cars are full of victims, villains and everything in between. I just …’ The sigh that came from Napoleon was deep, the stuff of therapy sessions.

“Some days it’s harder than others.”

“Some days the battles are hard won, my friend. Other times it seems so easy we might wonder why more people don’t do what we do. In truth, there is no easy way to watch people die, not even when we think they deserve it. A life lost is never an easy option, for what if there is redemption? Who is to say that the villain might have a change of heart and join those who battle against evil?”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders at that, it was not a question he dared ask himself too often.

“I don't know. No one knows, and yet we can’t let those villains continue to do what they do, to victimize innocent people or perpetuate some ridiculous scheme that will wreak havoc on the world. We don’t have the luxury of waiting to see if a THRUSH will change his mind and repent of his sins.”

“And therein lies the dilemma we face. I set the timer on that bomb and we knew how it was going to go. You attempted to get Leslie and Ralph out of the house and into safety, but they refused. They reckoned that the treasure they sought was worth the risk. You couldn’t let their greed cost us our lives as well. Even the guards took our advice and got out in time.’

Illya paused to let that sink in.

“We do not kill people without remorse, nor do we murder the unsuspecting. We are not like THRUSH, or the others of the ilk who have no conscience concerning a human life. We warned them, and those who took heed escaped.”

“But Leslie and Ralph did not. And I know we tried and I know it was their own fault that they died in the blast. I know it, I understand it, and I still can’t forget the look on her face when Leslie faced me and said she’d stay with Ralph no matter what.”

Leslie Dunham was a beautiful young woman, willowy and fair skinned with long blonde hair. Her partner was a thief named Ralph Vermeir. As she had tried to explain it to Napoleon, they were retrieving what had been stolen from his clients; they performed a service to those unable to do the job themselves. She had become his protege´, and tonight their job came from somewhere high up in the government.

It was on such a mission that the men from UNCLE had encountered this team as they attempted to recover a precious gemstone from the safe inside a THRUSH satrapy. The resident chief of this compound had himself stolen the gem, a five carat emerald worth a cool million, from a British member of the House of Lords. Contacting Vermeir through a series of contacts, the deal was struck to recover his lordships’ goods.

Napoleon listened to the story from Leslie as she defended what was going on, pleading with the agent to not set the explosives until after they had secured the emerald. But it was too late, Illya had struck out in search of the item they were to obtain, well, steal. He was also tasked with setting the explosives to bring down the old house. Returning now to where he had last seen his partner, Illya was moving quickly, warning everyone that there was little time to waste in getting to safety.

As Leslie watched, the two agents headed for the front door, yelling at whoever would listen to get out because the building was going to blow. The orders were to completely and utterly destroy the building; it was a message intended for THRUSH Central that UNCLE would do what was necessary to shut them down, every time and in any event. Ralph was working feverishly at the safe, listening for the telltale clicks that let him know he was successfully mastering the combination. Leslie never budged from her position, and only a few furtive glances outside to the balcony beyond gave Napoleon hope that she might yet run to safety.

As Napoleon sat beneath his palm tree he went over every detail and movement of the previous night. He didn’t see any chance that the pair of _retrieval experts_, as Leslie had phrased it, might have escaped the blast. He had managed to get out with only minutes to spare, and he never saw anyone else exit. Illya was waiting for him, having run at breakneck speed as he shouted to his partner to hurry up.

The warble of their communicators broke the mood, Illya answered his.

“Kuryakin here…’’ Napoleon watched his partner’s usual lack of expression. Something changed it, and now the American wanted to know what was being said to raise his partner’s eyebrows into a look of surprise.

“Yes sir, and thank you sir. Mister Solo will be, um… very relieved to hear of it. Yes sir, tomorrow. Thank you, sir. Yes, out.’ The smile was nearly ear to ear.

“Yes, quite, to be sure.”

“What? What did he say?” Hope rose up in Napoleon’s heart, although he knew it might be something else. Illya decided to not let this linger.

“They got out, and they rescued the emerald. A team from MI6 picked them up and shuttled them back to London. The Lord Whatsit Whoever…”. Napoleon wrinkled his nose at that.

“Whatsit Whoever? Illya, really… he’s a member of the nobility, don’t you know.”

“Exactly. As I was saying…’ The smile was slightly more subdued now.

“Leslie and Ralph really were on assignment on behalf of a member of the House of Lords, I suppose James Bond would have been sent on this assignment had our two retrieval artisans not been available.” Illya shook his head at the preposterous means by which the very rich were able to manipulate government. He had no personal objections to hiring a thief to steal back what was stolen from a person, but to have it sanctioned by the government…

Napoleon leaned back onto the palm tree, his mood lifted and his appetite suddenly on alert.

“Say, did you notice that little cafe in town, the one that smelled of cinnamon. I’m thinking we might go back and get a bite to eat.” Illya was already standing at the mention of food.

“You do not need to ask me twice, and this time we need not climb down those stairs again. I believe we can catch a taxi of some sort from over there.” He pointed across the expanse upon which they stood, above the beach below. The sound of the waves, of seagulls squawking and people laughing all began to resonate within Napoleon’s renewed optimism.

“I still can’t believe they got out. There must have been another way …’ Napoleon turned to Illya, snapping his fingers as he did so.

“Did you say MI6? They had a helicopter didn’t they? We couldn’t hear it because of the blast, but they went out to the balcony and were picked up by a helicopter. Who the heck is this lord anyway? And who are Leslie and Ralph, I mean, really?”

Twenty-four hours later agents Kuryakin and Solo were seated the Alexander Waverly’s round table. The mission was a success, the satrapy was no more. As for the two British retrieval agents, as they were now being called in complete seriousness, there was more to tell.

“Mister Solo, you were particularly concerned about, ahhh… a Miss Dunham and Mister Vermeir, of MI6.” Now Napoleon was truly interested.

“They were MI6? I thought they were, umm… well, thieves. I mean, I didn’t take that retrieval agent thing seriously.” Napoleon was shaking his head, the smile on his face one of amusement.

“Yes, well… ahhh… you see, the British have people who are particularly recruited for, hmmm… shall we say, unique skills. And that is not peculiar to their agencies, we have also had similar recruits. There are times and circumstances where it is easier to train a thief to be an agent, than to train an agent to be a, umm.. thief. ‘ Waverly actually winked as said that.

“You understand, don’t you Mister Solo?” Did Waverly let a sidelong look linger a little too long on Illya? Napoleon wasn’t sure, but it seemed like it. Or did it?

“Yes sir, I suppose… And so, those two are thieves trained to be agents…?” His voice sort of trailed off as he contemplated that, and then he thought he saw it again. Waverly cutting his eyes to look at Kuryakin.

Blast it all, just when he thought he had things figured out.


End file.
